


ever after

by canvases (oilpaints)



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: M/M, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-05
Updated: 2017-05-05
Packaged: 2018-10-28 10:22:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,873
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10829316
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oilpaints/pseuds/canvases
Summary: “I’ll be leaving soon, you know,” Kuroo says.A flurry of cherry blossom flowers whirl by, a shower of sunrise pinks that takes Kuroo’s usual bluster away with it and leaves nothing but a boy with petals tangled in his hair and a best friend he doesn’t want to leave behind.In which time is running out, and Kenma falls with the cherry blossoms.





	ever after

**Author's Note:**

> [♪♪♪](https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=etYtpKN8TgM)

 

 _Game over,_ his screen says, the words blinking in and out of existence.

Kenma doesn’t turn around when he hears fingers tapping at the glass off his window, doesn’t blink when he hears the latch opening from the outside.

“You’re letting the pollen in,” he says, keeping his back turned, even as the cool wind dances it’s way into his room, carrying dandelion seeds and the smell of dewy grass. “What do you want, Kuro?”

“ _Kenma,_ ” he sighs, and he can hear the smile in his voice, wide and full of teeth. “I could have been a murderer or something, you should lock your window.”

“You wouldn’t stop bothering me even if I did.”

A laugh, as airy as the spring breezes. “You _need_ me,” Kuroo says, and it’s not at all a lie.

“I  _need you_ to stop bothering me,” he says, and this earns him another bout of laughter. They can both see his screen still flashing _game over,_  and he’s made no move to continue playing.

“Kenma,” he says again in between his chuckles. “Let’s go out, just for a while.”

 _Try again?_ his game asks, and his fingers hover above the screen.

 _No,_ he presses. “Yes,” he says.

 

 

/

 

 

Kenma studies Kuroo on the trip to the nearest convenience store tucked in-between their neighbourhood’s streets.

His glossy black hair is even messier than usual, mussed up by the many gentle winds passing through. With sudden clarity, he remembers one of their many days spent side-by-side, when they both tried to tame his ridiculous bedhead.

 _Stay still_ , he murmured, combing through the tangled strands with his fingers and a hair brush. _I might end up ripping your hair off your head._

 _That might be for the best,_ Kuroo had replied.

He snorts at the memory, and his best friend turns to look, a grin playing at the sharp corners of his lips. “What are you laughing at?”

“Your hair.”

Kuroo scoffs. “Mean,” he says. “You’re so mean, Kenma. What will you do when I’m gone?”

He almost pauses in his tracks, his weather-worn sneakers skidding at the pavement briefly before he carries on with walking. _Of course that’s what this is about,_ he thinks. Graduation is right around the corner, and Kuroo has been dropping by more and more often with his usual charming grin and bags of chips or combini trips or offers to go to the park together. _Of course,_ Kenma knew what was going on the very first time he dropped by with a movie in hand. Kuroo tried to hide the nervousness in his eyes, but all his little habits had given him away.

“Kenma?” he asks now, a teasing lilt to his voice. He’s hiding that same nervous edge again. “You’re even quieter than usual, today.”

“Just thinking,” he murmurs.

“Don’t get lost in the clouds,” Kuroo says breezily. “Sometimes you get lost up there and I have no way of following you.”

Kenma’s fingers freeze from where they’re toying at the strings of his two-day old hoodie. He shakes his head and blinks, regaining his composure. “Please,” he says, scoffing lightly. “You’re always going to be with me.”

 _Is that a stupid thing to assume?_ he wonders. _It couldn’t be, we’ve always been together._

“You’re right,” Kuroo says. “Anyway, hurry on, now, ice cream is waiting!”

 

/

 

“Make a wish,” Kuroo whispers, plucking a dried dandelion from the gravel, the seeds still clinging to it like a cluster of hopes and dreams waiting to take flight.

Kenma lifts one shoulder before he leans in and blows, watching the seeds scatter in the wind and dance of into the blue sky.

He doesn’t wish for something as silly or selfish as _forever_ , but he does hope for a good long while with Kuroo by his side.

 

/

 

They emerge from the convenience store with a cool gust of air at their backs. Kenma tentatively licks at his popsicle while Kuroo bites at his ice cream cone.

He wrinkles his nose. “How do you do that without your teeth freezing?”

With a wink, he replies, “Got strong teeth.”

He rolls his eyes before they catch something tangled in the nest on Kuroo’s head that he calls hair. Getting on his toes, he tentatively plucks out two dandelion seeds and keeps them in his cupped palms.

Kuroo peers over his shoulder. “You think that’s your wish?”

“Well,” Kenma says, smiling faintly as he meets his eyes. “It could be. We’ll never know.”

 

/

 

“Do you want go to the park, next?” Kuroo asks as he finishes up the last bites of his cone.

Kenma considers, his popsicle stick still lodged between his teeth. On one hand, his nose is itching with allergies and his fingers are itching to get back to his game. On the other hand, his time with Kuroo is limited, and they’re both well aware of this. It’s why Kuroo’s beeb trying to spend even more time with him, lately. Kenma knows this. Kuroo knows that Kenma knows this, and he knows that Kuroo knows that he knows and — it’s a never ending cycle of _knowing_ that he’ll never share with anyone else.

“Sure,” he murmurs as the winds lift his hair from his neck, patting the small of his back softly like a small comfort.

The hourglass has been tipped. Kenma doesn’t want to know what happens when the grains of sand have run out.

And so they walk to the park and forgo things like sitting on benches. Kuroo sits on the grass and Kenma rests on a knotted tree root and for a moment - just a moment - they talk about nothing and the winds go hush as time goes still.

 

/

 

“I’ll be leaving soon, you know,” Kuroo says.

A flurry of cherry blossom flowers whirl by, a shower of sunrise pinks that take Kuroo’s usual bluster away with it and leaves nothing but a boy with petals tangled in his hair and a best friend he doesn’t want to leave behind.

 _Ridiculous_ , he thinks. _This isn’t a shoujo manga._

Still, there’s traces of wistfulness and longing in his best friend’s voice. Kenma wants nothing more than to grab him by the shoulders and shake him until he understands that this isn’t the end of them if he doesn’t want it to be. He knows he doesn’t want his to end with _ever after_ instead of _happily_.

A little distance won’t change a thing. Kenma wants to scream at him. _Seven years_ , he wants to say. They’ve dealt with each other for over seven years, and he’s not going to let Kuroo leave him _now,_  of all times. He trusts in those seven years. He trusts Kuroo Tetsurou, the boy who dragged him out to play volleyball, the boy and his bravado and bruises, the boy with the sharp calculating eyes, and even this boy — the one with the grass stains on his shorts and a slight — almost unnoticeable — hunch to his shoulders that makes him look so small.

Instead, Kenma inches closer. He plucks a petal from Kuroo’s hair.

“I know,” he says softly. “I know.”

 

/

 

The next day, they go out to get ramen.

“How has practice been going?” Kuroo asks, his eyes shimmering gold in the low light as he rests his cheek on his palm. He leaves _without me_ unsaid, and Kenma doesn’t know if he feels weary or wary or wry.

He snaps his chopsticks in two. Kuroo startles.

“Swimmingly,” he says.

He relaxes, a lazy grin slipping onto his face. “I don’t know if you’re being sarcastic or not.”

“Neither do I.”

Kuroo barks out a laugh. His laughter has always been the rough kind, snorting and wheezing and messy. It’s not pretty, and everyone knows this, but Kenma is endeared against his will. The lamps hang low in this restaurant — _their_ restaurant, the one they’ve been hanging out in for years — and the light casts shadows along his throat.

Kenma ducks down to stare into his bowl, his lips and his fingers twitching, aching for something they can’t do or have. He picks up his chopsticks instead.

There are circular stains of water on the wooden table and scratches that Kenma is all too familiar with. It’s _their_ table, too, the same one they’ve been sitting in every time they come along. Tucked in the corner, there were times in the past when it was occupied, but now the regulars and staff have come to understand that it’s _theirs,_  and they leave them to their own world.

“So,” Kenma starts, poking at his noodles, “how have _you_ been?”

“If I say good, that would be a lie,” Kuroo says, waving his chopsticks extravagantly in the air. “I have all this schoolwork and all that, and if college is going to be worse, I will cry. Don’t let me go, Kenma.”

He slumps onto the table dramatically as Kenma rolls his eyes. “If anyone’s doing the leaving here, it’s you,” he says. Kuroo lifts his head to meet his eyes. _We’ll still be together, after all this,_ he tries to say in that one glance, willing the words into his best friend’s sharp, gold eyes. _Don’t be stupid._

He chuckles lowly, flashing Kenma a lopsided grin. “Right as always,” he says. And then, softer, as he stares at the table, “It was a bit dumb of me to doubt us, wasn’t it?”

Kenma hides his smile behind his napkin, but the crinkle in his eyes gives him away. “Just a bit,” he says. “Being dumb is kind of your nature, after all.”

“Hey!” Kuroo says, but he’s laughing again. They both are.

 

/

 

That night, Kenma finds himself sitting on the floor, wearing one of Kuroo’s hoodies while they watch old shows they used to love.

The shirt is much too big for him, and he buries himself in the soft fabric, drawing his knees to his chest. He tucks his chin into the hoor and plays with the laces. Kuroo is quiet from where he’s lying on the couch. _Odd,_ he thinks. But it’s not really. Kuroo cherishes quiet moments just like he does.

Kenma catches soft sounds of snoring and turns to find him asleep. His knees are hooked over the couch’s armrest and his mouth is slightly open. The television screen casts his face in a strange blue light, his eyelashes casting shadows down his cheeks. Kenma’s hands grow still inside the pockets of Kuroo’s hoodie.

Suddenly, all he can think is, _I’m going to miss this_ , and it echoes in his head and in every corner of the empty living room. _I’m going to miss you, miss you, going to miss you, you, you, you —_

Kenma blinks the thoughts out of his head and checks the clock hanging overhead. It’s getting late, and he should be heading home. He knows that Kuroo’s parents wouldn’t mind him staying, but he wants to be alone in his own bed right now.

He throws a blanket over Kuroo’s sleeping from and turns off the television. His heart weighs heavy in his chest as he turns away.

He doesn’t take off Kuroo’s hoodie. It may be spring, but it’s still chilly at night, after all.

 

/

 

The next morning, Kuroo finds his hoodie and a note tucked in-between the folds and a tiny doodle of a cat in the corner of the slip of paper.

> come over?
> 
> \- kenma

 

/

 

 _I’m going to miss this,_  Kenma thinks again, suddenly.

Kuroo is watching him play his video games as always, sprawled across his bed as he takes about everything and nothing. Time dances with the dust motes and just as slow. Outside, spring is calling. Inside, Kuroo hogs his pillows and complains.

 _I’m going to miss this,_ he thinks again. This is a daily occurrence, really, but once Kuroo goes of to chase his future who-knows-where — well, this could happen once every few weeks if they’re lucky. And when are they ever?

“Kuroo,” he starts.

“Hm?”

He turns to see Kuroo staring at him with this fond look in his eyes. His heart stumbles and stutters in his chest, but he remains calm, letting his hair fall over his face. The window is still open, and he can taste _spring_ and _goodbye_ and _I miss you_ in his mouth, but he keeps them there.

“Nothing,” _I’ll miss you,_ “want to help me beat this level?”

Kuroo’s crooked smile makes an appearance. He’s going to miss that, too.

“Always, my dear Kenma,” he says, dramatic as ever. “What beast are we slaying today?”

 

/

 

A few days before graduation, Kuroo finds Kenma in the place where they both met.

Kenma is settled on a rock by a small pond in their backyard. The water glimmers and the light winds through the surface like sparkling threads. Many years ago, Kuroo had sent a volleyball sailing over the fence that separates their houses, and it fell into this very same pond with a loud _splash!_ that startled the life out of Kenma’s nine year old self.

Now, Kuroo smiles, almost wistful. “Ah, memories,” he says, plopping himself onto the gross beside him. “Those were the days.”

He raises an eyebrow. “I got wet,” he says. “And then you asked me to play volleyball with you. Water and sports. Two of the things I hate the most.”

“But you love _me._ ”

“Debatable.”

“ _Kenma,_ ” he whines.

“Kuro,” he says, for no real reason.

“You _love_ me.”

“No I don’t.”

“Do too.”

“Do not.”

“Do not.”

“Do too.”

“Ha!” Kuroo yells, loud enough to send the birds scattering into the skies. “Gotcha. I knew loved me, Kenma. All this time. Why didn’t you just say so?”

Kenma just smiles faintly, then reaches down into the pond and splashes water at him. Kuroo yelps. He laughs. Kuroo retaliates by wetting his hands and chasing him around until he winds up lying on the grass with the winds combing through his hair and Kuroo on top of him.

He waggles his fingers. “Don’t,” Kenma says. “Kuro, don’t you — _ah_!”

Kuroo tickles him until Kenma knees his stomach and they both stop to try and catch their breaths. _I’m going to miss you,_ Kenma thinks for the hundredth time that week. He thinks not to say it aloud, and his heart flutters like wingbeats. He doesn’t want to scare this butterfly-delicate thing away. And Kuroo knows, anyway. He always does.

“Ah, I’m gonna miss this,” Kuroo says.

“I’m not,” Kenma gripes. Kuroo’s eyes flash with laughter, because they both know that’s a lie. “Now get off me.”

 

/

 

When graduation finally comes around, Kenma, weirdly enough, feels like he can breathe again. And he’ll always remember the way Kuroo smiled with glittering eyes — _thank you for these three years!_ — and threw his head back as he laughed with his classmates one last time. Kuroo, saying _goodbye_ again and again and again to anyone that approached him. Kuroo, saying _hello_ to him when he offered his congratulations.

Kenma will remember all of this, and he doesn’t cry.

 

/

 

Kenma disappears. As always, Kuroo finds him.

“Feeling nostalgic, too?”

He turns around to see Kuroo bathed in the light, the wind whipping his hair this way and that. His face looks soft, but Kenma is far too absorbed with the button resting on his palm. _It looks like a pearl_ , he thinks, eyes flickering to the water. _Fetched from the deep, dark depths of the ocean._

He turns back to his best friend and his messy hair, his uniform a little rumpled and the area where his second button is supposed to be is empty and fraying. His eyes wander back to the button again.

Heart in his mouth, he waits for a grand speech. Instead, Kuroo just raises his eyebrows and says, “Surprise,” chuckling nervously all the while. He rubs his neck. “I know this is, like, cheesy shoujo stuff but I read somewhere that the whole second button thing was inspired by lovers going off to war, and I feel we should just focus on tha — ”

Kenma bursts out laughing. He can’t help himself. “S-Stop rambling,” he says. “It’s just me.”

Kuroo frowns. “It’s never _just_ you,” he says, his fingers curling in on his button. He takes a seat on a stone next to him. They’re quiet, for a while. The world seems to go hush under Kuroo’s touch. Kenma can feel his heart in his ears, sleeve, throat, mouth, and he trembles like the earth — _no,_  like a cherry blossom flower, ready to fall but unsure of the winds.

“Remember what I told you that day?” Kuroo says, staring into the waters. “When we first met, I mean.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Yeah. You told me we’d be friends forever, even if we knew each other for all but ten minutes.”

“And we will, if you want to be,” Kuroo says. _Of course I want to be,_ Kenma wants to scream, but he stays quiet as Kuroo unfurls his palm and the button twinkles back at him. “Maybe more. If you want to be.”

“Of course I do,” he murmurs, gently taking the button and holding it close. “Kuro, of course I do.”

Kuroo smiles back, and finally — _finally finally finally_ — he lets himself fall.

 


End file.
